House of hoarders

A couple of years ago, I got the rare chance to tour Habitat 67, the stunning modular housing complex designed by Moshe Safdie for Montreal's Expo '67. I was in modernist heaven - I'm a sucker for humanist design, not to mention built-in bookshelves, natural light and a river view! I was surprised to discover that some of the Habitat dwellers were not as enamored of the original units. One owner transformed his lovely clean wood-and-glass cube into a black-and-white Zen garden, complete with stones, bamboo and water features. It was very sleek and glossy - and disorienting. I couldn't figure out where the family kept the detritus of daily life - the weekend paper, the umbrella, the dustpan. Then I accidentally caught a glimpse of their closet (I opened the door thinking it was the washroom) and discovered it was crammed full of junk. Slippers, cleaning supplies, lightbulb and two-litre bottles of Sprite were all ready to bust out at any moment like so many skeletons. It was a relief to realize that even the most minimalist of us are hoarders at heart.

On the spectrum from Zen minimalist to hoarding horror, our house is perpetually on the cusp of horror. (My sister tells me that if you have to close doors to certain rooms when you have visitors, you are a hoarder). Once every couple of months I pack up a box of clothes and other stuff for Canadian Diabetes. I've taken our VHS machine and old battery chargers to the e-waste depot. I've donated boxes of baby stuff to Villa Rosa. I have been known to visit Unclutterer. But still stuff accumulates. Lately I'm getting a kick out of spinning our household junk into cold hard cash. (And no, I'm not selling stuff on Kijiji or Used Winnipeg). The fact is, a surprising number of businesses in this city will give you money for stuff you no longer want. I'll walk you through a few of them in a post later this week.